To Be Yours
by Pudding Earl
Summary: Experimental writing purposes. A series of drabbles revolving around the first generation. Angst and crack included. Pairings include DaeG, G27, AG, Cavallone Primo x Alaude, G02, and others.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Little drabbles that I decide to distract myself with while working on major projects like Kakera and my DaeG 10k onshot challenge. I guess you can call these little bits of writing that I'm experimenting with for my major projects, so plot/style may be similar. Constructive criticism would be nice. Enjoy.

- x -

**drabble one :: worry**

daeg + g27

"Nufufu... ."

A familiar voice hit his eardrums. Deceptively soft and entirely intoxicating, it sent a shiver down his back before familiar gloved hands reached him, enclosing him in their cold grip. Somewhere in his mind alarms were ringing frantically, but with a single look into those turquoise eyes, lined with darkness, and he was lost. Completely lost. Fingers scraped along the fine fabric of the tantalizingly familiar military uniform, eyes closed as he tried to melt away the image of Daemon's features, and breath hitched from a sickening mix of fear and excitement. _No._

"Let go." It was with much effort that Giotto got a grip on himself, elbows burrowing onto Daemon's chest as he tried to push the other man away. How many times had this happened in the past? Oh, God, and to think that it was something he looked forward to before, something that got the blood pulsing through his veins. Now his blood was pulsing for an entirely different reason.

Those hands. Why couldn't he keep track of them? One moment he felt them pulling him closer, the enticingly cold touch invading the flesh of his stomach. In the next they had stole further down, Giotto's hands clenching onto the gloved fingers to prevent anything further from happening. No, no. It was so wrong. Wrong. He had to stop. Where was his strength?

"I hate you, Giotto." The words, repeated so often in the past, were expected. So expected. But Giotto still felt the pain in his chest spread, breath stolen for a moment. Hate. He had always been surrounded by it, and yet it hadn't hurt so much back then. Did one become more delicate with age and time after death? "I really do, you know..." Dexterous fingers slid into his slacks after the belt was loosened, much to Giotto's helpless horror. "Every single fiber and hair of you. I hate it." A wet tongue traced the convexes of his ear, shivers escalating up his back. Weakness. Vulnerability. Was Daemon somehow right about him all along?

Chaotic heat enveloped the calm.

"Don Primo?" A pair of bright brown eyes suddenly swam into his watery vision. His hands were warm again.

His lips twitched into a weak smile. "Decimo." Said teenager only gripped his hands with more vigor, face leaning up closer. Somehow Giotto felt the need to back up. Proximity... it was such an unfamiliar thing again. His hands were temporarily neglected as the soft touch of Tsuna's hands combed through his hair. "... what are you doing?" Tsuna's nose touched his, and Giotto shifted so they were at a reasonable distance again.

"What was it?" The hands slid from his hair to his cheeks. It was then that Giotto realized the tear tracks there. Oh. When had that happened? Chocolate brown mingled with gold. Giotto could feel the faint lapping of Tsuna's breath on his lips. Daemon. Daemon's breath had felt like that. He squeezed his eyes shut and gave a small chuckle. His cute little descendant had matured so much in the last ten years. It was startling.

"Nothing." Pulling the hands from his face, Giotto's lips left a quivering kiss on his descendant's forehead. "Go back to sleep. Don't worry."

Don't worry. How often had he said that to himself?


	2. Chapter 2

**drabble two :: breathe**

alaude x cavallone primo

Unnatural.

The way the dark bangs dropped into his face, the way those dark eyes flashed at him when he thought he wasn't looking. The way he had no control over his breathing when they were in the same room, the way he had to force each inhale and exhale. Suffocating. It was suffocating to stand and pull on his poker face, to force every fiber of himself to stay on task, to stay in control, to obey. Obedience had never been this difficult. And despite all the precautions he'd take, there'd always be a slim margin of error. An error that would always occur when reality cut through the delicately woven layers of denial with the sharp slice of truth, when he let the facade collapse before him in a crumpled heap.

He was about as good as a ticking time bomb in front of this man, about to explode at any moment. _This_ man, with credentials shadier than his and a man whose coordination skills were nil. Well, perhaps not _entirely _nil. Teeth clamping together in frustration, his cool fingers gripped at the manilla file folder forcefully. Eyes. He could feel them boring through him, seeking for the pieces that existed within him. The silence draped over them, a sickly sweet presence as the clock ticked on, oblivious to the obscurities of human interaction.

"What are you doing here?" Cold voice sliced through the air, the slightest tremble accompanying him. A casual shrug was his reply, the gentlest of smiles gracing his lips before they parted, and then before he knew what was going on warm lips were on his, a hand clasping around the back of his neck to prevent any movement. _As if he was going to move away from this. _Manila folder slipped from his hand, shock registering before he let go, allowing the shorter man to regain his breath. Again.

"Visiting you, of course, _allodola._"

As if.


End file.
